


Unseated

by moonblossom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Sad Sherlock, The chairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonblossom/pseuds/moonblossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's in John's chair again, and it's all wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unseated

**Author's Note:**

> In my head, this is why John's chair wasn't in the lounge at the beginning of His Last Vow. Spoilers through the end of S3.

It takes a moment for Sherlock to realise what's wrong when he steps into the lounge. That mop of dark hair, in his chair. No. No, that won't do at all.

"Get up, would you?" He can't even be bothered to pretend to sound affectionate. It's not her chair. It will never be her chair.

"Aw, you want to sit so I can get in your lap, Sherl?"

His skin crawls. It always does when she says that. In that tone. Overly familiar. Soon, soon this charade will be over. Will be worth it. But not soon enough to let her lay claim to the chair.

Already it doesn't smell like John as much anymore. The blanket keeps getting rumpled when people walk by, and John isn't there to smooth it back. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

He snaps his thoughts back to the present. She is _still_ sitting there.

"I said _get up_!" She looks startled, unsettled by the force and the ice and the barely-suppressed rage in his voice, but Sherlock can't force himself to pretend to care. She gets up, scrambling, coltish legs in impractical shoes, and stumbles to the doorway.

"I'll... I'll call you, yeah?"

Won't do to have her frightened. He relaxes his face, grins charmingly. "Yes, of course. It's been a long day. I'll talk to you tonight." She smiles, lips tight and eyes narrowed. He's not sure if she buys it or not, but she doesn't argue.

After she's gone, Sherlock painstakingly folds the blanket into a neat square and places it on the seat cushion. He finds the flag pillow -- on the sofa, why is it there, that's not where it belongs -- and places it on top of the blanket.

The chair probably belongs up in John's room, but Sherlock can't bear the idea of not seeing it at all, and it would be a bit ridiculous of him to go up to John's room to visit an empty chair.

Getting it into the kitchen is not difficult at all, but getting it around the table is going to be more problematic. Muttering to himself, Sherlock pushes the kitchen table to one side, abutted up against the cabinets. The chair slides easily through the empty space now, and Sherlock manoeuvres it into the hallway.

It's a tight squeeze, and he has to tip it at a precarious angle to get it through the doorway to his bedroom, but once through the gap, it glides effortlessly across the varnished wood floor as though it belongs here. After a few moments hesitation, he places it in the far corner of the room, next to his wardrobe, angled towards the bed. He leaves the blanket and cushion pointedly in the middle of the seat, a tidy little _Keep Off_ sign, since she seems to think anything in his bedroom is fair game as well.

Back in the lounge, the lighting is all different now, without the chair casting shadows across the floor. It doesn't feel right, but lately not much does. And really, anything's better than coming home to find someone in that chair, only that someone isn't John.


End file.
